Facing the Music
by owlcroft
Summary: McCormick gets his revenge when the judge reneges on an agreement. Oh, the horror, the horror!


A/N: This story debuted in the last STAR for Brian 'zine and was written for L.M. Lewis, who helped get me into this in the first place.

FACING THE MUSIC

by

Owlcroft

McCormick was cramming dinner in even faster than he usually did. "You're gonna choke one of these days," observed the judge mildly.

"Late," mumbled McCormick through his mashed potatoes. He swallowed hugely and amplified, "class at seven. Running late 'cause it took so long to get the report on the Franklin bust filed."

"A class, huh?" Hardcastle took another forkful of his own veal cutlet. "What kinda class this time?"

Mark took a quick sip of his milk and answered, "It's sort of a music appreciation class. Over at Pepperdine." Another pile of mashed potatoes went to join its predecessor.

"Music appreciation. Bet that's one of the classes that all the pretty girls take." The judge looked at the younger man with a sly smile. "Right?"

Mark grinned at him, winked, and finished his milk with a long draught. "Back around ten, don't wait up," and he was gone.

Less than a minute later, Hardcastle heard the sound of the Coyote roaring down the drive. "Blonde, cobalt blue eyes, likes music, hah!" He shook his head and took another bite of cutlet.

ooooo

A month later, McCormick was running late again and grabbed up a hastily-made sandwich to take along to class.

"What's her name, Tiffany? Crystal?" guessed the judge. "Muffin?"

Mark glanced back at him through the closing back door. "Chris," he said with a smile. And was gone.

"Hmmph. Well, at least she's got a 'real' name." Hardcastle shrugged and set about fixing himself a sandwich for dinner. "Wonder what she's like." He reached up into the cabinet for a bag of chips to go along with his ham and cheese on rye and paused for moment. "Wonder why I haven't met her. It's been a _month_."

ooooo

"It's been six _weeks_, McCormick. How come I haven't met her yet?"

Mark tucked the last file back into the cabinet, slammed the drawer shut, dusted off his hands, pulled back a shirt cuff and checked his watch. "Her? Who?" He turned to look at the judge, still seated at the small table in the basement.

"Chris. The one you met at that music class. I'm not saying," Hardcastle held up a hand, palm out, "you need to bring her over here. But, usually your girlfriends are draped all over the place, in the way, making a mess and a lotta noise. This one must be different," he made the last sentence a semi-question, raising his eyebrows and leaning his elbows on the table.

"Yeah," Mark grinned, "Chris is different all right. And I'm gonna be late again." He turned toward the stairs, then turned back momentarily to add, "Tell ya one thing, Judge. You got a big surprise coming."

Hardcastle looked after him with a puzzled and somewhat irritated expression. "I don't _like _surprises, McCormick!" he yelled up the stairs.

A door slamming was the only answer.

ooooo

Tuesday night again, and the Jazzmasters were scheduled to practice at Gull's Way. "Look, we haven't had a rehearsal here for a coupla months now. Besides, it'll do ya good to be exposed to some _good _music for a change, instead of that classical stuff you been hearing in that dumb class." The judge glared defiantly at McCormick, arms akimbo. "Dixieland just happens to be this country's best art form, ya know."

Mark glared right back at him. "_Art _form? Who are you trying to kid, Hardcase?" His expression changed suddenly and he laughed. "Maybe it is. When it's played right. All I said was to remember the agreement -- no practicing after midnight. That's the deal, Judge. Remember?"

"Yeah, well, that was temporary, when you were going to _real _classes. It's my house and my band and we'll practice as long as we feel like it and if you don't like it, _tough_." Hardcastle folded his brawny arms over his chest and lifted his chin. "Besides, you aren't around all that often any more, so what do you care, anyway? You're always off at that stupid class," he threw a hand in the general direction of Pepperdine University.

McCormick lifted an eyebrow. "So you're calling off the agreement? I'm warning you, Judge, don't do it."

The judge scowled fiercely at him. "You're _warning _me? Just who the hell do you think you are, anyway? And who the hell cares if you're not around any more! Not _me_, that's for damn sure!" And off he stalked off toward the kitchen.

Mark looked after him for a moment with a calculating expression, then nodded to himself and left for his class.

ooooo

The Jazzmasters had been making a determined assault on "St. James Infirmary Blues" for forty-five minutes when Ralphie, the drummer, called a halt.

"Milt, guys," he said, holding up his arm to display his watch, "it's midnight. We gotta call it quits for the night."

Hardcastle drained his trombone again into the little paper cup he used, and shook his head. "Nah, c'mon. Another ten minutes isn't gonna matter. We almost got this baby licked into shape."

"I don't know, Milt," the trumpet-player, Marty, offered. "We did say midnight."

The judge leaned against the corner of his desk and snorted derisively. "It's my house and my rules, and I say we can go on for a little longer. Now, one-two-three --" and he started again on the slow, mournful song, followed by the rest of the Jazzmasters.

They were well into the fourth verse when they heard the front door crash open and McCormick shout, "I warned you, Judge!"

Startled, they all fell silent and heard an ominous droning sound from the hallway as Mark appeared, stern of face and carrying a bagpipe. He planted himself at the top of the stairs leading into the den and launched into "Mary Had a Little Lamb," piping slowly and carefully through the tune twice.

The Jazzmasters, stunned into immobility, began to recover, and as McCormick started a wailing version of "As the Saints Go Marching In", Ralphie took up a muted beat on the snare drum to accompany him.

The others waited for the chorus, then cautiously joined in. They finished two more verses and, as the chorus ended, Mark took the mouthpiece from his lips and glared at Hardcastle. "Just remember, Hardcase. I've got a bagpipe, and I'm not afraid to use it!" He nodded at the rest of the band, and left.

ooooo

McCormick greeted Hardcastle cheerily the next morning as he entered the kitchen for breakfast. "'Morning, Judge. Eggs or pancakes?"

"Eggs," was the brief reply. "Get the juice out and pour, willya?"

Mark poured and started some toast. He checked the status of the coffee dripping slowly into the carafe, then dropped into his chair at the table and watched the judge flip eggs.

"So that's the 'music appreciation' class, huh? And Chris is your teacher?" Hardcastle kept a noncommittal expression on his face as he tenderly prodded a yolk to test its doneness.

"Yep. They're his pipes. He just let me borrow them last night. Chris says," McCormick added proudly, "that I could be pretty good if I worked at it."

The judge dished up the eggs and placed the plates on the table. As he took the pan of bacon from the oven, McCormick salted and peppered his eggs and caught the first two pieces of toast as they flew up out of the toaster.

Hardcastle accepted a slice of toast from him in exchange for four rashers of bacon, then seated himself and buttered his toast. "How long you been planning that little antic?"

"Oh, probably since we first went to Scotland. Remember the pipe band in the village?" Mark deftly caught the other two slices as they popped into the air and handed one across the table. "I was thinking about it for a while, then I saw something in the Malibu paper about this class."

The judge crunched his toast for a few moments, then gently punctured an egg yolk with his fork. "And you were just waiting for us to go past midnight, weren't ya?"

"Yep."

Hardcastle put down his fork, bit his lip, then finally lost control and burst into laughter. He leaned back in his chair, hand to his head, roaring in amusement, then, holding his side, tried to speak and failed. He laughed some more, resting his hand on the edge of the table, shaking his head and finally, wheezing, managed to say, "Bagpipes," before he broke into a bout of sustained chuckling.

McCormick grinned broadly and watched him. "Told ya it would be a surprise," he said, getting up to pour out the coffee. He sat, finished his juice and toast, and handed over a paper napkin at the appropriate time.

The judge wiped his eyes, still chortling, and took a few deep breaths. "Surprise? Yeah, I'll say," he managed. Another couple of snickers and he was able to take a swallow of coffee. "Hoo, boy."

He drank a little more coffee, then shrugged and plunged into speech. "So, yeah, I was a little mad yesterday, about you being gone all the time to class and stuff. And I was outta line going past midnight when we had an agreement. But see, I thought you had this girlfriend and you were keeping her under wraps for some reason. That you didn't want me to know about her, didn't want to . . . I dunno, _share_ her with me or something. I was feeling kinda left out, I guess. So, I got all outta sorts and cranky and I guess I was kinda trying to get back at ya a little by not sticking to the arrangement." He sampled his coffee again. "It was stupid, but I never thought you'd launch a _bagpipe_ attack."

"I bet." Mark rested an elbow and gestured with his fork. "You should know me better, Judge. Actually, you _do _know better. It's probably that you just forget sometimes or something."

Hardcastle wrinkled his brow and sniffed while he finished his coffee. He shook his head and reached an arm to the countertop for a refill. "I dunno. Maybe it just takes us old geezers longer to get used to stuff."

Mark hmmp'ed at that. "Well, you better watch it, Hardcase, or I'll buy my own pipes."

"Yeah," the judge replied in a serious tone, "you oughtta do that. It'd be better if you didn't have to keep borrowing those. And hey, don't forget we practice at Marty's next Thursday."

"Practice?" said McCormick, with a puzzled frown.

"Oh, yeah." Hardcastle smiled at him. "We're gonna be the only Dixieland band with a bagpipe, kiddo. We're gonna make musical history!"

_finis_


End file.
